Carson, the Insufferable Fool
by leiamoo
Summary: This would take place during season 3, episode 3, in the midst of Mrs. Hughes' cancer scare. Carson has some thoughts, and decides to take action.
1. Chapter 1

This would take place during season 3, episode 3, in the midst of Mrs. Hughes' cancer scare.

/

Upon first hearing the hushed conversation between Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Carson felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. A coldness seemed to spread from his chest outward to his arms and legs, and immediately caused him to become shaky. He steadied himself on the doorframe and stared toward the hallway where the ladies had just been standing. It was as if all sense of normalcy had deflated from the room, and he found himself in a foreign place surrounded by things he did not recognize.

Was Mrs. Hughes ill?

He had noticed a slowness about her recently which seemed very out of character, but he blindly assumed she was being lazy. The thought now seemed ridiculous to him, for when had she ever been lazy? Mrs. Hughes often rose before he did in the morning and remained in the servant hall or kitchen after he retired at night. She kept track of the female servants and helped sort out their personal matters, approved the menus, ensured the laundry was cleaned, pressed, and delivered properly, smoothed out problems between the staff, and communicated with Lady Grantham when needs arose.

There had been numerous occasions when he, upon deciding he would not be able to sleep at all, had risen in the middle of the night to find her asleep at the dining table, paperwork sprawled in front of he. Each time he struggled with the decision of whether to wake her.

The first time, he did shake her shoulders until she stirred, groggy, and looked up at him. Her hands had immediately traveled up to her coifed hair, tracing it and tucking the loose strands away. She had cleared her throat, then hurriedly gathered the stacks of papers into her arms while mumbling disjointedly, "can't believe I … really did not intend to … so irresponsible … won't happen in the future … my apology, Mr. Carson." He had simply stood there, dumbfounded and unmoving, shocked that she was this harried after a simple mistake.

Yes, she always dwelled on even her most innocent mistakes, believing them to be signs of her weakness and inadequacy. Mr. Carson had found himself wondering about her childhood and young adult life, pondering over what her experiences had been, what particular circumstances would instill in such a hardworking woman the belief that she would ever not be good enough.

/

In that moment, with his hand steadying him but a chill now settling over his whole body, Mr. Carson began to think of himself. His actions over the past week had been embarrassing, even if Mrs. Hughes was not ill. What had he said to her a few nights ago? Something about needing to pull her own weight? He had been cruel, and she had been worried and perhaps in pain, but unwilling to share it with him.

So she had endured his insult, apologized, and tried to perform her duties in a way that would please him.

 _Carson, you are an insufferable fool_ , he thought to himself.

/

The next morning, Mr. Carson purposefully rose before the sun and set about on his morning tasks. He bustled around downstairs, checking each room to ensure Mrs. Hughes was not awake and working yet. Then, he carefully began completing her tasks as well. He sent the housemaids up to tend fireplaces, open the shutters, and tidy up; he let himself into her sitting room and checked the linens and china, swept, and built her fire. As he was discussing a breakfast substitution with Mrs. Patmore, he stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Mrs. Hughes standing in the doorway, arms crossed in front of her.

He wrapped things up with cook and followed Mrs. Hughes, who led him to her sitting room. She motioned into the clean, warm room.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked, clearly attempting to hide her frustration.

"This is your sitting room."

"Mr. Carson, you know very well that is not what I meant. Who has been in my sitting room this morning, and why have they seen the need to coddle me?"

"Coddle you?" he asked incredulously, scanning his eyes around the room and making a mental note to fluff the chair pillows and fold her tartan blanket tomorrow morning.

She huffed and closed the door behind them, perhaps feeling the need to keep their conversation private.

"Mr. Carson, most of my morning duties have already been completed. I require an explanation."

He sighed.

"Mrs. Hughes, I behaved … callously … toward you a few days ago. You seemed tired, and I was rude instead of understanding. I wanted to apologize for my behav—" he began, but was cut off.

"Are you referring to the evening when I was skulking down the hallway instead of helping in the dining room? Because I quite agree that I behaved improperl—" but then _she_ was interrupted as well.

"I will hear none of this. You work harder than anyone in this house, and I have all the respect in the world for you. I wanted to _show_ you how sorry I was, instead of merely _telling_ you."

She was silent. He was not sure if her eyes had been glossy the entire time, or if it happened in the last moments. Regardless, he marveled at her beauty. She reached up to wipe her eyes, and took a step back.

"Mr. Carson, thank you for looking out for me. But rest assured, I can complete my daily duties satisfactorily, without help."

Then she stalked out of the room, leaving him to stare at the unfluffed chair cushions.

/


	2. Chapter 2

/

When it neared dinnertime, Mrs. Hughes found herself wondering if she had spoken too soon. The day's work seemed to have caught up with her, and she found herself feeling fatigued while walking down the hallway toward her sitting room. She was overtaken by a wave of dizziness and reached out for the wall.

Instantly, someone was at her side, supporting her elbows, allowing her to lean against their torso as the mysterious person guided her into the room and closed the door behind them. She waited a few moments, willing her vision to clear and the wave of nausea to dissipate, then turned to see the stranger.

"Mr. Carson?" she breathed in, her face instantly feeling hot. In a way, she almost wished her rescuer could have been Thomas or Molesley or someone else who would be bound to secrecy due to her rank above them. But it was Carson, the only other downstairs employee whose opinion carried weight.

"Ms. Hughes," he responded with a nod, and she thought he appeared sadder in that moment. What was the butler downcast about?

"Thank you for your help. I seem to have a slight headache…" she began to lie, willing her voice to sound offhand and flippant.

"Is that the truth?" he asked, making eye contact with her for the first time. She breathed in at the gravity of his piercing gaze. He would not accept her excuses, Elsie realized. He would demand the truth from her, and she was not ready to release it.

"Why… of course it is the truth, Mr. Car—" she began, but choked on his name and began to sob quietly. She could not do it. She could not feed a lie to her only true friend in the house. She could not willfully deceive the man who had stood by her side for the past twenty years.

Then, Mr. Carson's arms were around her, and her forehead was resting on his chest, and she was breathing into his silk vest and wondering if she would die before experiencing this again. She felt him tighten his hold around her, bringing their bodies closer, and rest his head on hers.

"Please tell me what is wrong," he requested, his words whispered into her hair. She sniffed, wishing she could burrow deeper into his hug instead of responding.

"There isn't time now. After dinner, when the others have gone up, I will meet you in your pantry." She answered quietly.

"That is acceptable."

And he did not release her immediately, although she thought he would. In fact, it was long minutes of breathing before he finally loosened his hold on her back. When she finally looked up at him, something had changed in his expression. It looked as if he was more awake than he had been all day. She stepped back, wiping her cheeks with her hand even though the tears had long since dried up. He nodded to her, opened the door, and disappeared down the hall.

/


	3. Chapter 3

Although Mrs. Hughes had willed the night not to come— _if you can stop time, just this once, I will do whatever you tell me to do in the future, Lord_ —the Almighty paid no heed to her request and it was soon dark outside. Dinner was served and cleared away, maids and valets tended to various family members and guests upstairs while footmen bustled around preparing the house for sleep.

Once the work was done, one by one the servants went up to bed until Mrs. Hughes found herself putting out the lights. She invented some jobs which could have easily waited until the next day— _perhaps if I organize these dishes and it takes long enough, Mr. Carson will fall asleep and I can hurry upstairs—_ and completed these tasks slowly. When she had finished, she held false hope that Mr. Carson would have forgotten about their scheduled meeting, although _without a doubt, that man has never missed a meeting in his life_. The clock in the hall told her it was now tomorrow, and she could no longer ignore the weariness in her arms, the soreness in her back, or the difficult task of keeping her eyes open. Elsie Hughes was almost positive she had never looked so tired and haggard in her entire life, but she did not bother to confirm this theory with the help of her mirror. She suspected Mr. Carson did not care what she looked like, as long as he received the information he was seeking.

Mrs. Hughes tapped quietly on his door. _Perhaps if I knock lightly enough, he will not hear me and then tomorrow morning I can truthfully tell him that I came, but that he did not answer the—_

At that moment, the door swung open to reveal Charles Carson's concerned face, backlit by a crackling fire and his table lamp brightly lit. And, although she felt as if she could lie down right there on the wooden floor and sleep happily until the sun rose, Mrs. Hughes found a small smile crept onto her face at the warmth emanating from his pantry.

Mr. Carson stepped aside and waved her in, then closed the door behind her. Without waiting for him to assign her a chair, she carefully positioned herself on his settee. He returned to his desk and stood behind it for a moment as if in thought, then brought the wooden chair toward the fire, placed it a few feet in front of her, and sat down.

She stared at the fire for a few long moments before turning her gaze to him. She found his eyes already locked on her.

"Mr. Carson, have you ever thought seriously about dying?"

 _Elsie, that may not have been the most tactful way to begin this conversation._

His mouth opened and closed multiple times before he reached up and made a quick swipe over his eyes— _why is he wiping his eyes?—_ then merely stared at her, looking lost. When he spoke, he spoke very slowly.

"Mrs. Hughes, there are few things in this world which frighten me. My own death is not among them, but I do fear living in a world without those people I have grown to," his voice hitched, "care deeply for."

She nodded in agreement, wondering how he would go on living, should Lady Mary or Lord Grantham precede him in death.

"Well, you're a much better man than I, but I've known that for twenty years. The thought of dying terrifies me," she admitted, stifling a sob which threatened to escape. She believed she had been successful at hiding the sound, but when he leaned forward with a concerned look on his face, she realized this was not so.

"Mr. Carson, I shall tell you the truth. I've shown some symptoms of illness—" she began earnestly, deciding she should just get the information out and worry about it afterward, "And the doctor has done some tests and sent off for results, which should be in within the next few weeks."

His eyes were dark and cloudy again. He swallowed and fidgeted with his hands.

"What kind of illness?" he asked softly, as if he were afraid of the answer. She waited until he raised his eyes to hers and stared into them for a few moments before she lay the horrible, ugly truth before him:

"Cancer."

Their remained locked until she broke the connection and stared down at her lap. The depth she could see in his eyes made her uncomfortable, and if she had been standing, she would need to steady herself from the dizziness.

He stood abruptly, his hands dropping to his sides, and looked around the room as if searching for something. He wrung his hands as his eyes stopped on the cupboard. After giving her another glance, he crossed the room and opened the top drawer to remove a small picture frame. Returning to his chair, he handed the photo to her and seated himself again, heavily.

She stared at the picture in her hands and traced the lovely woman's face. The photo was in surprisingly good condition for how old it probably was, and Mrs. Hughes marveled at the absence of dust and the rather expensive-looking frame it was kept in. She looked up to meet Mr. Carson's eyes.

"Who is she?"

She expected to hear another story of lost love, another open wound from his past which she would help him stitch up if she were able.

"Elizabeth Carson. She was my mother."

Mrs. Hughes breathed in, at once honored to share a name with the most important woman in his life and surprised that he had never informed her of this. On second thought, she was not surprised by that fact.

"She is stunning, Mr. Carson."

He swallowed. "Yes. She was. But I did not have the pleasure of knowing her. She died months after I was born—of cancer."

She allowed her fingers to trace the length of Mrs. Carson's hair and tried to swallow the knot in her throat. Imagine dying when your precious son was only months old. Imagine never being able to marvel at the stoic, gentle, kind man he grew into. She looked up at Mr. Carson. Mrs. Hughes attempted not to examine his reasons behind revealing this photo at this moment. She tried not to think that he saw her as another victim, a lost cause with no hope remaining. As of right now, she was still alive, _and I will work until I cannot manage it any longer_ , she couldn't help but reminding herself.

The man seated before her had not made a movement since mentioning his mother's passing.

"I am terribly sorry. I daresay she would be incredibly proud of who you are today."

It was only then that she noticed the unshed tears in his eyes. He simply nodded, unable to thank her without dislodging something he would rather leave alone for now. The butler drew in a few slow breaths.

"It appears, Mrs. Hughes, that this disease targets those whom the world never deserved in the first place."

She gave him a small smile at the most genuine, if a little morbid, compliment she had ever received. It was sweeter than any imaginings she may or may not have entertained through the years of knowing him.

Later that night, when she was tucked neatly into her bed upstairs, she would replay this scene in her head and wonder how she should have responded. She regretted answering him with only a smile. _Elsie, you must live now with no regrets. Soon, you may run out of time._

Mrs. Hughes decided to seize the opportunity, should it arise again, to speak honestly with Mr. Carson about how dear he was to her. She could not bear the thought of dying with such a secret.


End file.
